ENVELOPE TEST
by jkwasher
Summary: Visitors to Absaroka County provide a quandary for Walt and Vic, who have only recently "gotten it right."


_**A/N: Hi! After an absence from this site working on two different novels, I'm participating in a 25k weekend to finish miscellaneous scenes in them, which has also served to produce this one-shot story. There's more of Rememorizing coming along later this week as well. I probably won't be putting much else up for a while, as I'm starting to get the novels, Misdirection and Suns-stroke ready to send out for querying. I'm trying traditional publishing routes first, but Indy options are out there, and I know people who have successfully traversed them.**_

 _ **We shall see. It's about time to get them where people can read them. I'm getting older, and even the 1990s items like Suns-stroke are getting good reviews at the critique groups, so I'm pretty close to the really hard work…promoting after finding them a home.**_

 _ **Had wonderful times in Santa Fe and Buffalo this year, and really looking forward to Season Five dropping to Netflix September 23**_ _ **rd**_ _ **. See you around the corral!**_

 **ENVELOPE TEST**

After a grueling day covering almost four hundred miles inside Absaroka County, zigzagging from one corner of the county to the other, I wouldn't mind a beer or two, even his favorite Rainier. Nothing but a few dozen antelope and some hawks had broken up the drive, and immersed in that dusty Powder River country, there was little else to distract the mind during that hot, hazy afternoon, with no titanic liquid relief pushing in over the Bighorns. Maybe later that night we'd get something, but the afternoon was redolent with heat and dust.

Walt was in his habitual, taciturn thinking mode, sitting beside me but eyes very much on the road. He did a lot of that form of thinking while he drove, and I had long ago learned to accept not much in the speaking department. Most of the time, I indulged that, it was his M.O., after all, but he'd had the last hour in silence, and now my hand crept over and covered where his right one lay relaxed on his thigh. He finally noticed me, flashed a grin.

"Hey, deep thinker, could I interest you in a burger with your beer at Henry's?" I said it all flirty, so he really didn't have a chance.

He bit, his grin widened. I could make him laugh, but we were learning to our mutual benefit that my superpowers went far deeper, and we were both just beginning to acknowledge them. I could pull him out of a funk with a single quip. Tah-dah.

I shifted, keeping his hand under mine, and began to stare out the window dreamily, anticipating the evening ahead. My thoughts might not parallel the weight of his, but I could manage conjuring suck-face just fine while he wove together the plot points on the case we had been chasing all day.

A hour later we coasted into the Pony's parking lot. Henry's place was busy for a Thursday night. Neither of us would drink too much that evening, we both had to work early shifts the next day. I would go in super-early, Walt a little bit later. It was long-standing-duty roster, but now that a fair portion of our off-duty hours were together, discussions were ongoing how to make that transition smoother. No question, it was hard for me to pry myself from his arms at five am without waking him, and if I did wake him, he was inevitably interested. That made me smile, but it became increasingly difficult to make it to work in a timely manner.

Case in point two mornings ago.

"So, you trying to get Ruby to write me up?" I asked him as we were busy making up for all that time we missed during that Lost Year, when we could have been together but pushed each other away in mutual stupidity. Engaged as he was in nuzzling me in nether regions, I barely heard the muffled laugh. He lifted his shaggy head up from between my thighs.

"I'll talk to your boss and make it right."

"Sure you will." But I didn't ask him to stop. It had been a long, dry spell, and it seemed like I could still never get enough _personal_ attention, the likes of which was what my head had been filled with as we drove to Henry's.

The Red Pony was moderately populated on a Thursday evening at seven, by the time we walked in. I had lobbied for a shower all the way from Gillette, but Walt knows me so well, and reminded me I'd nap and be hungry later if we had gone cabin first.

He guided me to his favorite table, the one near the fireplace. No matter the season, he liked that one best. I always joked he chose that one so the bison hung above the fireplace could supervise our shenanigans. Walt grinned at that, but the bison wasn't talkin'. What happened or was said at that table, Mr. Bison would probably take to taxidermy heaven, someday.

I asked Walt once about that particular table.

"Good memories," was all he said, but I suffered pangs of Martha, Cady, of his life before, which had very little with the two of us together. I hoped we could eventually make some new memories either at this table or somewhere else, which might prove equally strong. There were still people who misjudged how strong an influence Martha had been on a large portion of his life. I only learned in tiny increments, but it gave me hope for our future together.

We had nearly finished our first beers and had our usual burgers ordered when a shrill voice spoke from just behind my shoulder.

"Well, look who turned up out of the tumbleweeds!" exclaimed the too-bright voice, at once husky and insinuating. A sylph-like woman wearing something resembling a gypsy outfit and Birkenstocks, with curly hair of an improbable red likely helped out by a bottle, squeezed between the chairs, followed by a paunchy older man.

I quickly caught myself describing him as such. My age filters were obviously set to "off." Age-wise, it could be Walt I spoke of, they were certainly of an age, but while Walt kept himself fit enough through his lifestyle and profession, this man had just let go at some point. His hair was thinning to a muddy gray, and his eyes were non-descript. I actually felt kind of sorry for him. Walt had, in my extremely prejudiced observation, aged well.

Of course, that lady didn't have the advantage of sitting on the porch wrapped in a robe watching Walt chop wood both for fuel and peace in a sweaty t-shirt. In my mind, it was Wood Therapy. He would be content if his back porch were filled with logs split for the coming winter, but to me, that was foreplay to foreplay.

Lucky for me that it was a three-season event, Walt constantly recognized winter was coming in Wyoming. While the snow made for pretty postcards, the minus forty degree days and ice made for a sloppy, nasty, hellish six months of automobile accidents, folks lost in the wilderness, frostbite cases and stranded stock. I'd take the preparations any day.

To be clear, I reaped the benefits of that, because when he finished, we'd go in and shower together, spend an hour or so in mutual massage, getting any residual kinks out. Best thing was, I'd get a free massage to work out the kinks I got from watching him. All in all, wood-chopping, his Zen place, was one of my favorite appreciation phases.

Walt quickly tried to stand and introduce the newcomers.

"These are old friends of Martha's, who visit Wyoming every year from Michigan." I wondered if he remembered their names. Of course he did, he was like a phone book of names in his head.

I smiled and observed. The woman seemed to want to carry the conversation for her paunchy guy. Walt obviously knew them, but he had a trace of that Deer in the Headlight look which so endeared me to him. Big, tough guy cut down with a look, and on occasion, totally defenseless. He could put on the political face to some folks, but generally not me, I'd see through it in a flash. He might come off as unapproachable, but something had happened between these folks in the past which he was still uncomfortable with. That intrigued, because I always wanted him comfortable around me.

"I'm Selma," the woman said, laying her hand on my shoulder, which was strike one. I preferred a firm handshake which didn't violate my personal space. I stiffened in my "Get your hand off law enforcement, lady," stance. Walt seemed to momentarily emerge from his trance.

"Selma, this is my…" The seconds ticked by, empty.

Okay, this wasn't Jeopardy. He was still struggling whether I was deputy or girlfriend. Sometimes I thought Deputy Girlfriend might be a better way to introduce me, or DeputyFriend, or something equally silly. It would explain itself better in his mind.

I quickly interjected. "I'm Vic. Undersheriff, Absaroka County. Walt and I are good friends." There, title and description. No polite person should ask more.

The woman's eyebrows rose. "Ah, this is Harry. We're retired, don'tcha know. I was a teacher, Harry sold insurance. We're RVing around, from Upper Penninsula of Michigan, Yoopers, don'tcha know, but we return here every summer. Such a beautiful area."

 _Like mosquitoes_ I thought, lips twitching, but held my counsel. The explanation rang hollow, though. I couldn't argue that, but there was something…something more.

Selma slid into the chair to Walt's right and my left. Harry pulled a chair out to Walt's left, and Harry sat on my right. Almost immediately I felt a hand on my right thigh. I didn't dislodge it…yet. I'd prefer to use a wristlock on him and bend him over the table along with a few choice words, but I didn't want to embarrass the man if he was Walt's friend. I didn't enjoy the handsy duo, not a bit. The only one permitted handsy-footsy was Walt, and then, only consensual. Oh, who was I kidding? With Walt, it was always consensual.

"We had no idea you had started seeing anyone since Martha died."

Oh, like that was soooo not that woman's business. A comment like that might serve to bring back Walt's grief, the last thing I wanted. I wanted him as happy as I could make him. Walt turned a dull red in response.

I tried to come to the rescue. "I'm sorry—?" But the woman plowed again and floored me.

"Have you told her about us, yet? You know, Martha only had your best interests at heart."

That stopped me cold. What was _this_ all about? What had he _not told me about?_ Who _were_ these people?

Walt looked like he wanted to either melt under the table, or explode, so I stopped the inquisition. "Walt. Let's walk. _Please_." To them, "We'll be right back." I took his hand and tugged.

He took the hint and we escaped out the Pony's back door and into the summer night, freshened by a breeze that might be hiding rain or even a thunderstorm behind it.

He took a huge breath and sounded like he was trying to drag in clean air.

"What the fuck was that?" I had to be direct, right?

"I—" He stopped, but I had learned. Nothing comes out of him easily. I waited, as patiently as a WTF question could permit. I finally made a Philly hand gesture of impatience.

"It was Martha. I told you, she wanted me to be a better man."

My neck did its disbelief thing and went back. _Martha?_ Bible-thumping, saintly Casi-NO _Martha?_ "What the fuck, Walt? That Harry guy thinks he's on the way to paradise."

Walt's lips bunched. "Selma was playing footsie with me."

"Who _are_ they?"

"I think they are sort of, uh, _moonchildren_ , not the cult sort of thing, but Martha called them Free Spirits."

"Free and on the open road, but free to accost two members of local law enforcement?" I wasn't buyin' it.

"She—she wanted us to experiment." It came out in a rush. I think I believed those words even less than his earlier ones.

Now, I could barely get it out. "Who… _Martha_?"

He finally released it in a rush of words. "I don't think I made her happy."

After learning of the dead psychic consultation brou-ha-ha, I thought that might have been a distinct possibility. Martha wasn't a LEO, she didn't understand the schedules, the grueling hours, dealing with scum on a daily basis and being able to process or surface from that, pursuing a case to completion, all the things Walt _did_ and did well.She might have felt insecure or had a hard time with that over the years, especially when added to the time-sensitive needs of a child. But…this?

"Experiment, _how_?"

"With other people. She liked that Bob and Alice movie."

I vaguely remembered an old movie about wife-swapping. I'd never watched it, but I knew the plot, and a lot of people in Philly were doing that before I left. It was… _trendy_. It did touch a nerve closer to home, though.

Sean had once tentatively suggested we add someone if makeup sex wasn't working. It had been too close to the time Walt and I had been at the motel together, and Sean didn't know how close I came to saying something, to giving in. I think Sean wanted to add a woman to the mix, though, maybe someone from work, and he wouldn't have been happy at _all_ with Walt as part of a three- or foursome. It was with mixed relief that picture from Gorski showed up. Even though it put Gorski back into play, it temporarily took the heat off my marriage, and off what might have happened between Walt and me at the time.

"But you didn't?" I needed to be clear on this, that handsy-footsy hadn't progressed to under the sheetsy.

"No." His voice was deep, hoarse, definite.

But now…"Then why are they still pursuing you?" I didn't want to say, _Martha is gone, they need to move on…_ and I didn't want to send Walt spinning back into his abyss of grief with what might have been if he and Martha had proceeded differently. I suspected that my presence had turned on paunchy Harry, and may have precipitated things tonight, if Selma was still turned on by Walt. Or maybe _Harry_ was turned on by Walt? Who even knew, these days? I wouldn't have pegged the veterinarian shagging the rodeo promoter, either. Life was strange, even in tiny towns.

"I…don't know. Maybe because you're here?" He echoed my suspicion.

Well, I had to ask it. "Did you want to?" I gulped. "I mean, back then."

He looked horrified. "No! Martha was the only one I ever wanted. I think maybe that was the problem, I wanted her, but she wanted someone more exciting or…different."

Well, that was from the heart, and seemed honest, if not brutal.

I sighed. Although that wasn't exactly true about Sean, I had resisted the temptation at the time, the same temptation who now completed me every night, and stood before me at this very moment.

I took a breath. "What about now? Has your outlook changed on that?"

He met my eyes. His were clear, not deflecting. "No. It's like…you and me, we're finally getting it right."

Well, that's what I thought, although we had never used those exact words together. I relaxed a little and gave him a very private smile, squeezed his hand.

"So you're sure?"

"No! Yes! Vic, I…" I could tell he was still struggling with it all. There hadn't been declarations, yet, it was more or less understood, but I was amazingly happy to be where we were now, where we had progressed to from that Lost Year. "Do you?—Because I only want you."

That was comfort and in addition to what was in his eyes, I would take that. "Well, then. I'll just watch my ass and ladyparts."

His eyes flickered, narrowed. "He touched you?"

"Feeling me up. Ass and thigh, so far."

His mouth grew grim. "I could sit next to him."

I shrugged. "I've had worse. Still, we _could_ just head out to the truck."

"You afraid?" Well, wasn't _that_ the kicker we both struggled with, whether use LEO types used to the scum of the county could handle two harmless older folks just sitting at the same table.

It was enough to elicit a "Fuck me!" My chin went out and I gave him my best WTF look. I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. "I think they mean well."

"They are pests." His distaste sounded like he was ready to go hunt up the rat poison, and turned up one of my lips.

"Still…Maybe we need to solve our problem in an adult fashion, not using deflection or retreat."

"You sure?" He sounded dubious, at least on his own part.

"Yeah, I'm sure, we go back, but just FYI on this, she wants you as much as he wants me."

"Forewarned, forearmed."

I jerked my head and turned to go back in, but his hand found mine and laced my fingers with his. We re-entered as a unified front, unusual since we didn't do PDAs at the Pony.

The two of them had something with umbrellas in front of them. I didn't want to know, nor if they'd had more than one while we were out forming our battle plan. None of our business, as we were none of theirs.

"We're going to call it a night." It came out before I could stop it, and Walt looked at me, startled after my bold words outside.

They stood up quickly. Selma seemed a little tipsy and clutched at the table.

"We could follow you out to the cabin," Harry ventured, and I felt something like the zebra just before the kill. Then I heard implication of the words. _Shit, they had been to the cabin?_

"We both have early shifts tomorrow." Walt's defense was welcome, quick, concise, impersonal. Good.

"We don't have to stay late…" Selma cooed…

Were they _totally_ oblivious, or just Total Assholes?

Walt did try to deflect that, less successfully. "Uh—"

Our hands were still intertwined, so I swung mine a little linked with his, Walt's following, to illustrate my words. "No thanks. It's an early morning for both of us, so he and I will shower, grab a quick fuck, and call it good."

I have never seen two—well, add Walt's to that, and it made me wonder if I'd overstepped, there—three faces go more shocked in the space of two seconds. I'd put it in my Ripley's Believe it or Not of Outrageous Statements.

"Nice meeting you." I gave a surreptitious tug on the still-immobilized hand of my escort, and he ended up almost dragging me to the Bronco. His shoulders were shaking. I thought maybe I'd upset him, about Martha, about any mentions of sex. I patted his shoulder awkwardly, hoping I hadn't sent him into some paroxysm of grief. Instead, he choked, grabbed my well-intentioned hand, and kissed it.

"You got me. That was priceless."

Priceless to clueless, that was me. "What was?"

" _Grab a quick fuck"—_ like gulping down a coffee and throwing yourself spread-eagled onto the bed."

"Well." I stung a little at his laughter. I wasn't sure what to call it, after all, I was still in that shadowy _Deputy Friend_ area, not precisely girlfriend or lover in his head. I had to try and explain. "The point I was trying to make was, no time or room for them. You want to explain how they thought they could just carry on as though Martha's absence had no bearing?"

His laughter faded and his lips turned down. "She had obviously discussed it with them at some point. She told me they had an open marriage."

"My dad would call them Hippies," I said. Just this once, I might actually agree with something my dad, Head of Detectives North in Philly, had said.

"Yes, and still taking advantage of others as they jaunt around the country." He worried at his lip.

"I don't believe they are happy with themselves, if they have to prey on other couples to make themselves work." I could be bold again out there alone with my man. I didn't add that it was that close for Sean and me. Maybe I should? "Remember…" I started. "When Sean and I were fighting all the time, and Sean was mad about me being around you so much."

"Yeah." He looked uncomfortable. Guilty. I had to fix that, _quick_.

"I told Sean once that you might make Sean and I work again."

"Me between you and Sean? Some sort of threesome?" He looked startled, sharp and distinctly uncomfortable.

I shook my head. I'd known it wrong at the time. "The thought crossed my mind, but I discounted it immediately. It wouldn't have worked because…Sean was still Sean. It was you I wanted."

He opened my door for me and I got in, turned back to him. "If I'd known how tricky it is to be with a Longmire—"

"Tricky?" he asked quickly. I was pretty sure there were still times he was not sure of us. He leaned into the cab, kissed my cheek. "I'm tricky?"

"Yeah, you know, in fielding offers of multiples…"

He made a noise of disgust. "I never wanted that."

I turned his chin up. "I never did, either. I wanted only one. Unfortunately, at the time, it wasn't the one I had. Sean figured it out, after Chance's. It just took him a little while after that to realize I couldn't ever turn him into you."

"I guess I should have figured that out."

"I should give him some credit, he had the guts to split us, I would have probably continued to live in denial to make the Sean and Vic appear to work."

He whispered, for my ear only. "Since he did us that favor, and we ditched the pests, what do you say, should we go grab that quick fuck?"

I tried to contain a grin, but shot back, "Don't forget the shower!"

It actually took us almost an hour to drift off after a quick but handsy sluicing off of Powder Junction grit and quick but satisfying reminder of who we could become together. To neither of our surprises, no extra body or hands were required.

I filed Harry and Selma in the relationship rearview mirror. It was good to be as far down the road from that Martha Grief-Lost Year intersection as possible.

I, for one, wanted to see well down the road ahead and make us some future.


End file.
